


Toasted Cheese

by profl



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically Sam nursing Rafe and a whole lot of fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 11:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17642147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profl/pseuds/profl
Summary: Sam's not too bad at being a nurse, which is all the more impressive considering his patient is Rafe Adler.





	Toasted Cheese

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no see! This one-shot is a gift for a friend, and has been in my writing queue for an entire year. Not sure if it's been worth the wait, but here is a whole lot of Sam taking care of Rafe. Enjoy!
> 
> Side note: If anyone reading this has also read Lift Closed and is upset at the lack of updates, it is on my mind and will be finished! I promise it is next in line.

For the first three days, Rafe blamed his constant sniffing on allergies. “It’s nearly spring,” he’d argued, and Sam didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was barely December. 

Slowly the tissues built up around their apartment. They began on Rafe’s bedside table before migrating through the apartment, until Sam had to watch where he put down his cup of coffee.

“Are you sure you’re not getting sick, Rafe?” 

“I had a flu jab, I’m fine,” came the curt reply, followed by the sound of a nose being blown out of sight in the bathroom. 

Since Rafe refused to address his condition, Sam did the same – not even commenting when Rafe’s skin felt hot to the touch as he lay tucked against Sam’s side one night. By the time they’d woken up, Rafe had pushed Sam away, lying on top of the blanket and radiating heat. His excuse – when he’d had to wipe sweat off his face upon waking – was that the air-conditioning unit was broken, but Sam certainly hadn’t noticed.

The following morning, Rafe woke up to sinuses so clogged that tissues were no longer necessary, and he’d gotten out of bed and shuffled through the apartment looking decidedly sorry for himself. He stopped in front of the coffee machine, which Sam had been hovering around for the past several minutes.

“You should go back to bed,” Sam said, careful to stay well out of the ‘sickness zone’. It seemed to permeate the air around Rafe like a cloud of Vicks Vaporub. 

“I’ve got work to do today, Samuel.” Rafe gave Sam a look that reminded him exactly how likely it was that Rafe would ever voluntarily rest, and Sam raised his arms in surrender. “I’m not going into the office though.” That comment was, at least, a small consolation. 

After his usual breakfast of coffee with no milk and one sugar, Rafe shut himself away in his office, leaving Sam with strict instructions that he was to do nothing “louder than sixty decibels.” Unsure whether the noise of the television was louder than sixty decibels and not willing to test it, Sam lay on the couch with a book instead.

A few pages in, the sounds of keyboard tapping began to be audible from under the office door. It was a sound that Sam had begun to take comfort in, because of the one or two times a week he would fall asleep waiting for Rafe to finish whatever job had him typing away so late into the night. A light sleeper, Sam would wake up when Rafe stumbled half-asleep into the adjoining bathroom, and by the time Rafe slipped under the sheets smelling of toothpaste, Sam was always ready to welcome him into his warm cocoon.

A loud sneeze interrupted Sam’s daydream. As much as Rafe refused to admit it, he was definitely ill and needed to take it easy. If he wasn’t going to rest in bed, Sam would just have to bring the rest to him.

Several minutes later, with a mug of lemon ginger tea and a blanket draped over his arm, Sam peeked around the office door. Rafe’s desk faced a window that looked out onto the city, but this morning the curtains were unusually still drawn, perhaps shielding weary eyes from direct sunlight. 

Sam moved quietly into the room, unnoticed. Apart from sniffing every few seconds, Rafe appeared focused, tapping heavily on the computer keys. Approaching from behind, Sam placed the mug of tea within arm’s reach on Rafe’s desk, before draping the blanket around his shoulders. Rafe only tensed and turned his head when Sam pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I’m on a conference call,” he said, in a tone that he tended to use when something was irritating him but he didn’t want to take it out on Sam. It had taken a while to get to that point – the first few months of them sharing an apartment had been full of Rafe wearing his emotions on his sleeve, ready to explode at Sam purely because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Since then, they’d learnt how to make it work.

Sam now noticed that Rafe’s phone was pressed between his ear and shoulder, and Sam put his finger to his lips to indicate that he wouldn’t make any more noise. Not wanting to leave the room quite yet, however, Sam mouthed, “I’m worried about you”, and gestured to the blanket that had already slipped off Rafe’s shoulders. Rafe waved him away, no longer paying any attention, but as Sam turned away he saw Rafe take a sip of tea. 

Accepting he’d done as much as Rafe would allow, Sam grabbed his book from the couch and relocated to the kitchen table with a pad and pen. Although his oldest friend, Harry Flynn, had teased him for being a “house-husband” (which was wrong at the very least because they weren’t even engaged), Sam still spent most of his days at home researching for the report that had plagued his mind for the past three years. He and Rafe had, of course, crossed paths just as long ago for the first time, when Sam interviewed him about his growing artefact collection. Rafe’s first anniversary gift to him – a vase from the Qing Dynasty – still sat on the mantle. 

Rafe’s elitist parents had of course thrown a fit when he’d brought home “a writer” – even though Rafe had tried to explain that his new boyfriend Samuel actually had an archaeology and art history degree – but Rafe didn’t seem to care what his parents thought of his love life, which meant that Sam had stayed.

“You look deep in thought.” A voice interrupted the silence and Sam looked up to see Rafe standing in the doorway, wrapped tightly in the blanket. 

“You look awful,” Sam said honestly. Even from across the room, Rafe looked pale and unsteady, and he held the edge of the kitchen counter like it was the only thing keeping him standing. “Can I get you something?” 

Rafe blinked a few times before answering, “Have you seen my nasal spray?”

“It’s in the bedroom – I’ll get it.” Sam stood up before Rafe could protest; it looked like a small breeze could blow him over. 

“You really should go back to bed, when will you finish your calls?” Sam called as he went into the bedroom. Rafe said something that he couldn’t quite hear, but it was the sound of a thump a few seconds later that sent a panicked jolt through him.

“Rafe?” He called out, rushing back into the room. Beside the kitchen bench, Rafe had crumpled to the floor, nearly undetectable in the crumpled blanket. “Jesus!”

Sam knelt down beside the pile and pulled Rafe free, setting his body upright. “What the hell just happened? Did you pass out?” 

“I don’t know… I was standing there waiting for you, and then suddenly I wasn’t.” Sam brushed a hand across Rafe’s forehead – it was clammy with sweat.

“How do you feel now?” Rafe seemed to sigh with resignation in response to Sam’s question, already knowing his fate.

“Sick.”

“I’m taking you to bed.”

 

¤¤¤

 

Rafe managed to stay in bed for all of twenty minutes before he made his escape attempt. Sam had wrapped him in a blanket and given him the TV remote as a boredom remedy.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want a book?” Rafe had given him an adamant shake of the head to all three.

“I’m fine.” 

Suspicious of Rafe’s reply but unwilling to argue, Sam had headed back into the living room and opened his book again. If they were both lucky, Rafe might nap for the afternoon, and Sam could make them both something to eat when he woke up. 

Sam was just beginning to settle back into his research when he heard muttering coming from the bedroom. Rafe wasn’t one for sleep-talk, so Sam got up to investigate, stopping in the doorway. It took him a second to locate Rafe, who wasn’t tucked under the blanket where Sam had left him. Instead, Rafe was now on the carpet looking awfully like he had tried and failed to get out of bed.

Taking a step into the room, Sam cleared his throat, and Rafe looked up with a startled expression.

“Samuel, I fell out of bed,” He said with a surprised look on his face. He made a show of feebly trying to pull himself up, but Sam walked over and placed his hands under Rafe’s armpits, lifting him back himself. 

“You fell out, huh?” Sam rearranged the sheets back over Rafe’s legs. “It looks like you tried to get out of bed so you could go back to work.”

Rafe looked sheepish and allowed Sam to pull a blanket up to his chest. “Would you at least bring me my phone so I can answer some emails?” 

“No way.”

A pause.

“Can I have my steam vaporiser?”

“That, I can do. I’ll bring it in here.” Retrieving it from the bathroom before setting it up on the bedside table, Sam flicked the on switch and played around with the buttons until hot steam started to rise out of the little machine. Sam didn’t think there was anything nice about trying to sleep in a steam room, but Rafe seemed to find some respite from it, lying back against the pillow and shutting his eyes.

“Do you want something to eat now? What about some more tea?” Sam stood at the edge of the bed. Rafe blinked a few times, and Sam noticed for the first time just how irritated and watery his eyes were. 

“Some hot tea… soup… Is that okay, Sam?” Sam immediately nodded. If Rafe was choosing to be obedient and stay in bed from now on, he would do whatever he asked.

There were no further escape attempts made by Rafe as Sam prepared his meal, and even when he returned to the bedroom with the tray, Rafe hadn’t moved an inch. The air felt hot and oppressive, but Sam knew that Rafe would throw a fit if he tried to open a window now.

Sam reached over and fluffed up Rafe’s pillows up before he placed the tray on his lap, allowing him to sit up comfortably. Somehow, being in bed made Rafe look worse than before, though feeling his forehead didn’t reveal any significant changes in his temperature. 

Sam made himself comfortable in the seat beside the bed while Rafe picked at his food, stirring the soup around the bowl with his spoon. Rafe liked soup, so Sam knew he that must be feeling awful to let it go cold like this. The tea, at least, again went down a treat, and by the time Rafe pushed the tray off his lap the mug was empty.

“Can I get you something else?” Sam asked, lifting up the tray. Rafe shook his head.

“I guess I’ll try and get some sleep…” His voice was small and quiet. Pleased that the thoughts of returning to work had been pushed from his head for now, Sam smoothed the hair off Rafe’s forehead and placed a kiss on the hot skin. Carrying the tray in one hand, he dimmed the lights on his way out.

Sam took his time washing the dishes, listening out in case Rafe called for him. He thought it would be too easy if Rafe fell asleep straight away – and he was right. Only a few minutes after he’d rinsed the last dish, a small voice called out his name. Sam walked over and poked his head back in.

“Are you okay, Rafe?” Looking in, he could see in the light from the doorway that Rafe had pushed his blanket onto the floor and now had only one leg left covered by a sheet, leaving the rest of his body bare.

“Can you turn on the fan?” 

There was a standing fan – kept in the bedroom for hot summer nights when they lay naked on the mattress together – hibernating in the corner, and Sam picked it up and moved it closer to the bed. He tried to position it so it wouldn’t interfere with the steam, and flicked it on a low speed. If it was too high, Rafe would likely complain about the noise instead. 

After giving Rafe’s head a gentle rub, Sam went back into the living room, but he could already feel himself growing tired too. So instead of going back to his textbook, he switched the TV in the living room on to a low volume and curled up on the couch. 

Rafe didn’t call out again, but once he’d finished one episode of Master Chef, Sam went back to check on him. It didn’t seem fair to leave him alone, especially if he was too uncomfortable to sleep - though Sam hoped he’d dropped off by now. 

Easing the door open as quietly as possible, Sam took a few steps into the bedroom, looking at the dark lump on the bed. The only sound in the room was the whirring of the small fan and steam vaporiser motors. 

“I’m not asleep.” Rafe’s voice strained to be louder than the noise, and Sam sat at the edge of the bed.

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know,” He said helplessly, “I’m too sick to sleep. I can’t breathe out of my nose.” Sam felt a painful feeling of sympathy – Rafe was miserable.

“I can’t unblock your nose, baby, I’m sorry.” Sam rubbed his hand up and down Rafe’s back: he was curled in a ball facing away from Sam, with his nose as close to his vaporiser as possible. After   
a few moments, he rolled onto his back so that they could look at each other. The small movement seemed to take a lot of effort.

“You could rub something on my chest…” Rafe suggested, small and hesitant. Quick to make demands earlier, the sickness had now taken its toll enough that Rafe had become shy and uncertain, not wanting to bother anyone. 

“You got any Vaporub left?” Sam asked, looking around the room for the aforementioned tub. He remembered Rafe smelling like it earlier and, sure enough, a quick search of the room revealed a container of the stuff.

Sam settled on the bed and helped ease Rafe onto his back. Even with the fan aimed directly at him, Rafe’s chest was hot when Sam rubbed the balm across it. He hoped this was just a symptom of a hot room rather than an impending fever later in the night. 

“Is this helping?” Sam asked, focusing on the centre of Rafe’s chest where it dipped slightly into soft dark hair. Rafe hummed.

“Yeah it’s okay.” Rafe’s voice still sounded congested, and Sam wondered whether the benefit would be more for comfort than any actual sinus clearing. Then again, Rafe probably preferred the comfort. 

When Rafe’s chest was thoroughly coated, Sam pulled his hand away and wiped it on his pants. Rafe was quiet and subdued: his eyes had fluttered shut partway through, but Sam knew that he wasn’t asleep.

“You think you can sleep now?” He asked, adjusting the sheet around Rafe’s hips. Rafe opened his eyes a crack.

“I can try… Are you coming to bed?” Sam promised that he was, and stood up from the bed. He switched off the lights in the living room, brushed his teeth, and used the toilet before re-entering the bedroom. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sam saw that Rafe had curled onto his side, with louder breathing that told Sam he was finally asleep. Sam couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that Rafe would get some respite from the sickness. 

Sliding under the covers himself – he was sure Rafe wouldn’t mind him hogging them tonight – Sam draped an arm across his partner’s middle. The skin there was warm but not worryingly so, and with the fan pointing directly at both of them now, Sam was comfortable. Sam didn’t even have the opportunity to think about anything else before he was sucked into a deep sleep.

 

¤¤¤

 

For the first few seconds, he wasn’t sure exactly what woke him up. The bedroom was still dark, and the air was still filled with the noise of machines whirring quietly. He guessed that he could have been asleep for an hour or two, but it was impossible to tell without getting up and finding his phone. Instead, his attention was taken by the source of his sleep’s disturbance. Where he had been quiet and still earlier, Rafe was now tossing from side to side, half obstructed by Sam’s arms. The bed also felt significantly hotter than it had earlier, and when he touched Rafe’s head Sam realised he was definitely running a fever. As Sam was continuing to take inventory of Rafe’s condition, Rafe woke up with a gasp.

“Sam…!”

“Hey sleepyhead, you’re not doing so well,” Sam said, putting a palm on Rafe’s forehead. It was hot and damp with sweat, much like his back which had been pressed against Sam. The rest of his body, however, was cold and clammy from the fan. 

Rafe pulled his head away: whether he was doing it because it was uncomfortable or just to be difficult, Sam wasn’t sure. 

“What time is it?” Rafe asked.

“Not sure, I don’t think you’ve slept very long though.” Sam propped himself up on one elbow.

“It’s too hot to sleep…” Sam chose not to mention that the room temperature was rivalling the middle of winter with the fan going, but instead stood up and made his way into the bathroom. He heard Rafe quietly calling for him, confused, but Sam didn’t respond. He knew what he was looking for. 

In less than a minute he was back, brandishing a medicine bottle and damp cloth. He suspected the medicine belonged to Rafe – Sam certainly couldn’t remember buying it – but it had sat in the medicine cabinet for long enough that Sam knew it claimed to relieve flu symptoms. He switched on the bedside lamp so he could actually see the bottle, and measured out the correct dosage.   
Meanwhile, Rafe had thrown an arm over his eyes to keep out the light.

“This’ll hopefully take on that fever,” Sam urged, easing Rafe into a seated position. He moved like a rag doll, and Sam suspected he’d simply topple over if he let go. But somehow Rafe still found the energy to turn his head away from Sam. 

“-on’t want it.” Sam tried not to roll his eyes.

“Stop being difficult – if you drink this, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Le’ me sleep…”

“You were just complaining that it’s too hot to sleep. This will help you cool down.”

Rafe opened his mouth - likely to tell Sam where he could stuff his medicine - but Sam was prepared, shoving the spoon between his parted lips and taking him by surprise. The foul-tasting mixture was swallowed before Rafe even had time to spit it out. He certainly had a lot to say when his mouth was empty again, however. Sam took the insults with grace, systematically wiping Rafe down with the cold cloth: Rafe’s skin was almost unbearable to touch.

Finishing by wiping down the hot skin of Rafe’s back, Sam wrung out the cloth in the bathroom, leaving Rafe edging the line between awake and asleep. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, almost in surprise. After hours spent tending to him, Sam almost looked as bad as Rafe did. Purple bags under his eyes didn’t do good things to his appearance, as it turned out. He experimentally poked one, and tried to smile at his reflection to remind himself that he wasn’t the sick one here. 

His self-inspection was distracting enough that Sam nearly missed the yelp of panic from the other room. Luckily, he’d had one ear listening in the direction of the bedroom, and he was back at Rafe’s bedside in an instant. 

“Rafe?”

Where Rafe had been lying was now only a pile of crumpled sheets, and the man himself was now similarly crumpled on the floor beside them. Sam immediately swooped in and lifted Rafe by the armpits, returning him to the mattress. When Sam looked at him, ready to scold, Rafe’s eyes didn’t quite focus.

“What happened?” Sam demanded. The idea that Rafe might have wanted to check his emails didn’t even occur to him at this point – he was much too sick even for that. No, now his behaviour was just plain stupid. 

“I didn’t know where you’d gone…” Rafe’s voice was quiet, hesitant. “Then I didn’t feel too good… I think I collapsed again.”

“Yeah, you sure did,” Sam said. He looked him over, breathing a sigh of relief that Rafe seemed to be unharmed. But his heart kept pounding – what had Rafe been thinking, trying to follow Sam to the bathroom in this state? He opened his mouth to ask exactly this, but closed it again when he saw the way Rafe crawled slowly back to the head of the bed, lowering his head miserably against the pillow. Sam could already see a sheen of sweat on his skin. So instead of the scolding he deserved, Sam forced his voice to soften. 

“Why don’t you try to sleep again?” 

“Maybe…” Rafe curled up with his back facing Sam, pulling his knees and arms towards his chest. Sam almost imagined he could feel heat coming off him in waves. He wished he could snuggle up against his back like he usually did, but right now that would be unbearable, so all Sam could do was rub his hand up and down Rafe’s back until he finally, finally fell asleep.

 

¤¤¤

 

Although Sam had hoped it might, the next morning did not reveal an improvement in Rafe’s condition. Sam himself slept in - a benefit of working from home - but even after he’d gotten out of bed and showered, Rafe was still motionless in bed. Sam let him sleep for as long as possible, but eventually shook him gently by the shoulder.

“Rafe…” He used a quiet and soothing voice, “Time to wake up and eat something.” It took a few tries to rouse him, but even once Rafe’s eyes flickered open they struggled not to close again.

“I don’t feel great… ugh…” His voice was barely above a whisper now, sounding even weaker than it had last night. Sam began to get a little worried: at what temperature was he supposed to call a doctor? He rushed into the bathroom and rummaged around for a thermometer, then brought it back into the bedroom.

“I’m going to take your temperature now, Rafe. Unfortunately all we’ve got is this rectal thermometer, but that’s okay right?” Sam waited for the punch-line to hit Rafe: this kind of awful joke always riled him up in the most satisfying way. This morning, Rafe simply blinked at him with wet eyes. Sam took his temperature – from his mouth – without another word. 

Although his temperature wasn’t anything that a Google search told him to call a doctor about, Sam was still worried about Rafe’s well-being. He’d lost his sense of humour, and now Sam was finding that his appetite was failing as well.

“You want a toasted cheese for breakfast?” Sam had asked, and Rafe had shaken his head adamantly. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve got to eat something… What do you want?”

“For you to stop asking and to leave me alone.”

A few hours gave him enough of an appetite to attempt some buttered toast, but Sam could tell that Rafe was beginning to grow frustrated. A night of only partially-interrupted sleep had done nothing but help the sickness sink its claws further into his body. Lying in a patch of his own sweat, with all of the sheets pushed onto the floor, Rafe was nothing but miserable.

Sam crossed the room and laid a cool hand on Rafe’s cheek. His cheek was rough with unshaved facial hair – something that Rafe very rarely let happen – and even running his hand down to his jaw left it clammy with old sweat. Rafe urgently needed a bath, but the possibility of him not only getting to the bathroom but also bathing himself could be days away. 

“Can I interest you in a bath?” Rafe gave him a sour look.

“You think I can get in and out of the tub by myself?”

“No,” Sam shook his head, “I was planning on carrying you there and washing you down myself.” 

Rafe’s face darkened, “I’m not doing that.” Rafe was stubborn on a good day, and this was certainly not one of his best. After distancing himself from the family business, Rafe had made a name for himself on his own, and had since then struggled to accept help from anybody else. Even if that someone was his partner. 

“I promise you’ll feel better afterwards. Clean, shaved, and tucked in clean sheets before you know it.” Sam offered a winning smile, but Rafe didn’t feel particular won over. The thought of being so ill that he needed someone else to bathe him was not only off-putting but borderline humiliating. Sam knew this, but couldn’t Rafe find some humility just for an hour? 

The eventual winner of the argument was Sam, purely because he had the energy to argue. Rafe had agreed to a compromise: Sam could carry him to the bath, but would leave him there to clean himself, returning when Rafe summoned him to empty the water. 

Rafe took a long time in the bath - enough time that Sam could have changed the sheets numerous times. As it was, Sam was just transferring them from the washing machine to the dryer when Rafe called out to him. 

Sam expected that Rafe would be clean-shaven when he re-entered the bathroom, insisting on doing it himself, but instead Rafe looked much the same as he had before. It was difficult to even tell whether his hair was washed or just appeared wet.

“You all finished in here?” Sam asked, kneeling down beside the edge of the tub. Rafe averted his gaze, focusing instead on the way his skinny knees were poking out from the water.

“Yes…”

“Did you manage to wash your hair?” Sam stood to reach the towel hanging on the back of the door. 

“No…” Rafe’s voice was croaky, and he reached his arms up when Sam opened the towel. Unsure whether Rafe would be able to stay standing long enough to be dried off, Sam did the best he could with him sitting on the edge of the bath. 

“I could help you wash your hair and shave your face,” Sam offered, seeing Rafe’s razor within arm’s reach. Having leant his head against Sam’s shoulder while he’d been towel-dried, Sam felt rather than heard Rafe’s negative response. But when he tried to ease him up, Rafe wrapped his arms tightly around Sam’s neck and whimpered. 

“Rafe…?” Sam forced them apart so that he could see Rafe’s expression. He’d squeezed his eyes shut but his lip was quivering, and he made another sound when he was torn away from Sam.   
“Why are you upset?”

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore…” Rafe’s voice sounded desperate, and when Sam caught his eyes they were filling with unshed tears.  
Without hesitating, Sam pulled Rafe’s face into his chest, cradling him there. 

“I don’t want you feeling like this either,” Sam said, fastening the towel around him and lifting him off the bath’s edge. Rafe naturally wrapped his legs around Sam’s middle, and his face didn’t leave the crook of Sam’s neck until he was laid down on the bed. 

Sam gave Rafe another dose of the medicine he’d had earlier, but it didn’t seem to have the same effect as before. Rafe struggled to settle into anything that resembled sleep now, instead flopping between his back and stomach and getting tangled in the towel. 

Sam tugged the towel until Rafe was free and replaced it with the clean sheet, which he hoped would be more comfortable. Then he settled again into the chair beside the bed, reaching down to grab the book he’d been reading the day before. 

Concentrating on the book was difficult when Sam realised that Rafe was not only unable to settle down, but also getting louder as the minutes passed. Unable to give him more medication for at least a few hours, Sam looked over the top of the book at Rafe and then back at the page.

“Although originally thought to be of the Qing Dynasty period, the piece actually traces back further to the Yuan Dynasty, and is believed to have been lost at some point between these two periods of time-”

“What are you doing?” Rafe interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper. He’d tried to prop himself up on one elbow so that he could see Sam the right side up.

“I’m reading to you, what does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re reading me a bedtime story like a child.”

“That’s one interpretation, but who reads their child reports on ancient Chinese artefacts?” Sam made eye contact with Rafe to show that he was teasing. Rafe sniffed.

“I suppose you’re right.” Rafe didn’t elaborate, but since he hadn’t told Sam specifically to stop reading aloud, Sam found his place on the page again and continued.  
Rafe continued to toss on the bed, but had gone quiet, possibly actually listening to what Sam was reading. Sam hadn’t chosen it for Rafe’s benefit, but he had to admit that out of the things he was reading currently, this particular report featured the kind of treasure hunting that got Rafe going. 

Sam had gotten through about a chapter when Rafe made the first noise he’d made for a while, rolling onto his side away from Sam.

“Come here…” Sam heard him say. Putting his finger in the book to hold his place, Sam stood up from his chair and perched on the edge of the bed. After a couple of seconds of Sam not moving, Rafe craned his head back and asked again, “Come closer?”

Still holding the book, Sam lay back against the free pillows and let Rafe roll into the crook of his arm, nestling his head against Sam’s chest. He cracked open the book again, holding it open with one hand, and gave Rafe’s back a rub with the other. Clearing his throat, he began to read again. 

 

¤¤¤

 

When Sam woke up, he’d lost his place in the book, and it had fallen off the edge of the bed. He reached his arm down to retrieve it but found his movement restricted by the weight of Rafe sleeping on top of him. His breathing was a little uneven with congestion, but his body was noticeably much cooler than it had been over the past several days. As if sensing the attention, Rafe stretched out across Sam, making a sleepy sound. 

 

“Mornin’ baby,” Sam said, once Rafe’s half-lidded eyes had made their way around the room to his face, “How are you feeling?” Rafe took a few moments to reply, as if taking systematically checking to see how each part of his body was feeling. 

“A little bit better, yeah…” Relieved, Sam leaned over to kiss his head.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you make me a toasted cheese now?”


End file.
